


all the beauty that remains

by 2pork



Series: the promises we keep [2]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Diet Fluff, Established Relationship, Love Letters, M/M, Road Trips, surge 2.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork/pseuds/2pork
Summary: Woojin is at a standstill, with a nightmare three months behind him and a bleak future ahead. What he wants is to stay in this in-between. What he gets is a love letter that puts him back on track.





	all the beauty that remains

_“I don’t think of all the misery,_

_but of all the beauty that remains.”_

 

There’s something to be said about the state between dreaming and waking. The world seems engulfed in a muffling substance that renders everything dull. The splashes of colors in the lecture hall are no less bright, but neither are they eye-catching, and every sound is a buzzing drone at the back of one’s head. Uninteresting. Perhaps a detail or two would be retained, haphazardly shelved to be examined at a later time. More often than not, they’re as good as missed.

Woojin is, for instance, peripherally aware that the professor is standing in front of the room, both from the context—he did go to class, after all—and from the garbled drawl filtering into his ears. But that’s the extent of his comprehension. Vaguely, he notes that she is gathering up the papers she must’ve been using as a lecture guide, still keeping up a running commentary on… something.

“...oojin.”

His eyes slide lazily towards the windows instead, squinting a little at the glare on the glass to spy at the little spots of yellow peeking over the ledge. The bench snugly situated on the other side of the window had been a favorite of his, but the memory of sitting there, bathed in the sweet scent of early spring, is hazy and distant.

It was only last year, wasn’t it? Had they been eating? Sharing stories about the day’s classes? Arguing pointlessly? All Woojin recalls with certainty is the softness of Jihoon’s cardigan pressing into his arm as a chilly breeze ruffled wisps of hair from their foreheads. Jihoon had hopped sideways on the seat, practically burrowing into Woojin’s side until they fit as close as humanly possible, and nudged at Woojin’s arm until it’s loosely wrapped around his shoulders. The butterfly flutter of eyelashes as Jihoon leaned further against him to whisper—

“ _Park Woojin!_ ”

He jumps at the voice hissing right next to his ear.

“Park Woojin, _listen_! This is important!”

Woojin blinks away the last vestiges of the daydream and tunes in to his professor’s words in time to hear, “...one month left until the deadline of your final project. I hope none of you have been procrastinating, and that you’ve all made some progress on the ideas you submitted earlier in the semester.”

The professor gazes upon the class with a resigned look that belies her words. “But should there be people who have waited until this last month before starting, know that I will not be giving an extension on the deadline. You’ve had plenty of time to work on this project, so please don’t bother asking.” With a final tap to ensure all the papers she’d been gathering are aligned, she dismisses the class.

There’s a deep, aggrieved sigh from beside Woojin that catches his attention, and he turns his head fast enough to catch the tail end of Jihoon’s glare in his direction. Jihoon looks away quickly, hands fidgeting above the empty desk, lips pursed as he eyes the students making their way out of the lecture hall with unconcealed envy. “Off to lunch,” he grumbles. “I want to eat too.”

Woojin looks at the clean surface of his own desk and realizes he hadn’t even pretended to pay attention. “What did I miss?” he wonders to himself, expecting Jihoon to whip around angrily to tell him just what and feels a tingle of satisfaction when he does exactly that.

“Your project! That you haven’t even started!” Jihoon cries loud enough to be heard outside, but a cursory glance at the front of the room shows the professor continuing her packing up like nothing happened.

Woojin pushes himself up from the seat and slings his bag on one shoulder, slipping his earbuds on afterwards. “Shut up,” he says, trudging out of the room, still a little out of sorts. When Jihoon follows, barely two steps behind him and still ranting about the neglected literature project, he feels steadier.

 

-

 

Jihoon’s eyes sparkle brighter than polished diamonds when he cries, and it always hits Woojin like a punch in the face each time he sees it happening, whether in person or on screen.

Jihoon stares, heartbreakingly blank, at a point just off the camera angle, breath trembling out of his lips in little clouds of white. Despite the best efforts of the street signs and the Christmas lights, Jihoon easily outshines them just by standing there, eyes, nose and cheeks reddening gradually.

But perhaps Woojin is a little biased.

Right here inaudible sniffles surface through each tiny hitch of his chest, and here his eyes well up with tears that only threaten to fall until the end of the scene.

“Did I do something wrong?” Woojin mouths along to Jihoon’s shaky voice on his laptop screen. “I can fix it. I know I can, but you have to tell me what it is.”

The camera pans from the heroine’s disbelieving face back to Jihoon, and suddenly Woojin is looking at two copies of the same face, one of which hovers just behind his laptop screen, cheeks puffed grumpily.

“Park Woojin, are you watching that stupid thing _again_?”

Woojin drags the laptop towards him, arms closing around it. “Don’t call it stupid. It’s the only way I get to see you nowadays, you know?” he shoots back, feeling a little defensive. “I’m allowed to miss you!”

It’s an old argument by this point, but admitting to missing Jihoon always has the other’s surliness melting away. Jihoon pulls back, eyes softer but more uncertain, and he settles in front of Woojin’s cross-legged form in a similar position. “I’m getting really sick of seeing you like this.”

Woojin scoffs, “Leave then.”

An exaggerated pout takes over Jihoon’s face, even as there’s a flash of hurt that he tries to hide, that Woojin wants so badly to apologize for causing. Jihoon bends forward until he can mime smacking Woojin on the knee, stopping his hand right before it can touch the fabric of Woojin’s sweatpants. “I can’t leave you while you’re,” vague hand-waving, “marinating in depression sauce! What kind of person would that make me, huh?”

The statement leaves Woojin feeling glum. He stares at Jihoon silently, at his messy hair and knotted forehead, at his smooth cheeks and rose petal lips, at the soft curve of his jaw. He stares until Jihoon clamps his mouth shut self-consciously.

Jihoon steals glances at him in between drilling holes with his eyes into the back of Woojin’s laptop, and finally says, “Stop looking at me like that.” He ducks his head just a bit to hide his uneasiness, and it’s such a familiar habit that Woojin doesn’t fight the smile pulling at his cheeks.

“Teach me how,” he says, feeling gratified to see Jihoon unfold, albeit in indignation.

“Tone down the flirting, for one!”

“Hm… a little difficult.”

“What’s difficult about it?!” So incensed he rises to his knees with his arms half-raised to slap Woojin’s head, Jihoon only just stops himself before going through with it. Distress crosses his face and vanishes in the moment before he lowers his arms, expression shuttering again, and it’s in moments like this that Woojin hates, just absolutely hates, how easy it is for Jihoon to act. How quickly he can cover up any hint of joy or pain, and how he doesn’t even think twice to turn to Woojin with false smiles even though he knows how much Woojin despises it.

Some of his thoughts must show clearly on his face, because Jihoon clears his throat and changes the topic. “You’re going to your dance practice later,” he declares, voice as decisive as ever.

Woojin allows it. “Am I?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

“How long do you think Taehyun-hyung will allow you to mope around in here?”

“For as long as I can keep the door locked.”

Jihoon looks skeptical. “With the end-of-year showcase that you guys have been practicing for this past year coming up? You think he won’t find a reasonable excuse to break down your door with the full force of Sungwoon-hyung’s deviousness behind him?”

He has a point. Woojin glares at the door with more disappointment than it probably deserves.

“If you keep this up, you won’t even have the muscles to keep up with your routine later.”

He scowls harder.

“Woojin, please.”

 

-

 

It’s been three months since Woojin last used his car. It’s an old sedan, one where you have to unlock the door manually, but it’s never left him stranded on the road and that’s always something to be thankful for. He catches Jihoon looking at it longingly sometimes, and it’s unsettling. Even now, as Jihoon accompanies him outside the apartment complex towards the dance studio, Woojin finds him staring at it with a considering expression. “What is it?”

Jihoon hums, and the late afternoon sun seems to shine right through him. “You still haven’t tried driving?”

Woojin follows his gaze back to the car and flinches as the glare burns straight into his eyes. He wonders how Jihoon isn’t bothered, and then quickly puts a stop to the thought. “No,” he responds, “I still can’t…” _Close the door with me inside? Start the car? Sit in the driver’s seat without feeling like I’m suffocating?_

Jihoon knows all these though, and it’s obvious that he remembers witnessing it well from his side glances.

They keep walking down the street until the apartment building and the car are out of sight. Only then does Jihoon say, “You should try again soon. I think you’ll find a lot of things have changed these past few months.”

Woojin wants to scoff. A lot of things did change these past few months, and his driving situation barely scratches the surface. He can’t help the snide way he barks out, “Like _what_?” when all he wants to do right now is shove Jihoon away. Because Woojin will take this grow up and move on shit from anyone, but Jihoon doesn’t have the right.

Not after what happened three months ago.

And not now.

Jihoon sighs, put out at his reaction. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.” He stops at a street corner and lets Woojin pass, not saying a word as Woojin keeps going without him.

 

-

 

It was a strained practice. Woojin flees the studio quickly, needing to get away from those people walking on eggshells around him. They’re all good guys, and they don’t pressure him to talk about what he’s going through, but Woojin can sense the impatience building up behind the words they refrain from saying.

He gets it.

Their showcase is looming around the corner, and Woojin is crippling the group with his issues. And as much as they’ve all gotten around to being friends, they’re also fiercely competitive and proud of their skills. There’s no room for indolence and hesitation, and right now Woojin is chock full of both, no matter how hard he tries—and fails—to hide it.

Footsteps follow him down the stairs, but he doesn’t slow down to allow them to catch up. He takes reckless leaps down the steps until he reaches the ground floor, almost stumbling straight into the wall if he hadn’t been able to slap his hands on the surface to stop his face from colliding.

He thrusts away from the wall and sprints down the hallways, out the doors of the building.

Woojin runs even though he knows whoever it is won’t follow him too far. He runs despite how it’s at cross-purposes with why he’d gone to practice in the first place. He heaves one laborious breath after another and drowns his thoughts in the pounding of his feet on the pavement, because it’s better than imagining the disappointment on Jihoon’s face when he figures out that Woojin hasn’t made the progress that the other seems to be seeing. And Jihoon _always_ figures it out, and Woojin, no matter how much time passes, is powerless against the sadness that immediately flits behind a close-mouthed smile.

So he runs and he runs, until the burning in his lungs replaces the burning in his eyes, until he’s far removed from his dashed expectations for himself, until he’s close enough to see his point of safety.

 _Home,_ he thinks with relief.

For a moment, as he slows to a jog, he sees a pale figure standing next to the car, seeming to glow despite being half-bathed in shadows, but as he approaches the place where they’d been standing, there’s no one there. He walks over to the other side and looks around the area. “No one?” he mutters, eyes wandering towards the car.

Suddenly he’s reminded of Jihoon’s words from this morning. _You should try again soon._

Woojin’s hand reaches for the key that he brings with him out of habit, eyes locked on the door. The handle is covered in dust, but still appears to shine at him mockingly under the streetlights.

He drops his hand back to his side, clenching and unclenching as he tries to make up his mind.

Can he?

Why does Jihoon even insist on this? What business is it of his if Woojin never fucking drives again? What if Woojin _wants_ to marinate in the goddamn depression sauce?

Brief flashes of pouted lips, the phantom thud of a foot stomping angrily, flicker through his mind.

No, he wouldn’t like that, would he?

Woojin fishes out his key and slots it into the door. The first thing he notices upon pulling the door open is the smell. Musty. He doesn’t know what he expected. Something worse? But then he’d always kept the car as clean as he could manage, and he’d never driven anyone else around either, so perhaps this is actually par for the course.

Woojin drags a lead-filled foot in, and then decides to go for broke and ducks inside, sagging into the driver’s seat before he can change his mind. He keeps his eyes closed and takes deep, calming breaths. Here in the car, he doesn’t have running until his legs go numb as a distraction. There’s only him and the thoughts he’s been trying to avoid.

After a few minutes, he peers at the interior through partially shut eyelids. Except for the thick layer of dust, everything else is the same. The pink and black steering wheel cover that Jihoon had gotten him as a joke, the can of air freshener he’d bought (“Ocean Breeze?” Jihoon read the label incredulously, hanging onto Woojin’s hand before he could put the freshener in his basket. “You didn’t get enough of that in Busan?”), the tissue box masquerading as a pink pig in the back seat.

He’s so lost in memories that he barely registers the fact that he isn’t panicking how he thought he would.

He leans sideways, reaching to open the glove box to see if he’d left anything important inside. If he’s lucky it should be empty.

It isn’t.

A nondescript white envelope with blue and red lining the edges lays inside. On the back, _Woojin_ is written in painstakingly controlled handwriting that he just knows is Jihoon’s when he’s actually trying to be legible.

Is this why Jihoon wanted him to get in the car?

He rips one side of the envelope and slips out the paper inside. More carefully, he unfolds the piece and starts reading.

 

_Park Woojin. Woojin-ah. Woojinnie._

_It’s only the start of the semester and we already haven’t seen each other in almost a month. I don’t know if I can ever tell you this in person, but I miss you a lot. Your stupidly soft hair, your ridiculous hatred for samgyetang, even the way you get so absorbed in dancing that you_ _completely forgot about our date_ _. You’ve already apologized for that though, and I’ve already said that I forgive you._

_I guess what I’m trying to say is stop fucking apologizing. You’re forgiven! If you say sorry about it one more time, I’m going to punch you! And if you send it through text, I’ll also punch you! I understand how much you love dancing, and I know this showcase means a lot to you because it’s the last one you’ll be participating in. You don’t need to be sorry. Did you forget how busy I am too? Aren’t you the one who always schedules around my projects? If anyone’s bad here, it’s me!_

_If anything, I should be thanking you. You’re always very patient with me, even though I can get overbearing and too dramatic at times. Thank you for the times you snuck out of your dorm in the middle of the night to meet me. Thank you for supporting me. It’s lonely not being able to see each other a lot, right? I’m lonely too. I want to spend more time with you._

_I love you so much, Park Woojin. I love you and I miss you everyday._

_After I’m done with the shooting this weekend, should we go on a date? You’ve had your car for a year, but you still haven’t taken me out for a drive! Stingy. I demand a long drive. It better be so long that we’ll actually have time to get sick of each other._

_I want to see you more and be with you longer._

_Anyway, this is getting too cheesy for me so I’ll end it here. I’ll see you sometime next week!_

_Love you!_

_Anon ;P_

 

-

 

A letter.

A _love_ _letter._

Imagine that.

 

-

 

“You found it,” Jihoon guesses, right after Woojin greets him with, “I want to compile love letters for my literature project.” He blinks, bemused, at Woojin and at the letter in his hands, and barely bats an eyelash when Woojin starts to look sheepish. “Go for it? Whose love letters were you thinking of collecting, and what kind of annotations will you add?”

Woojin grimaces. “It’s so late in the semester that I don’t have the luxury of choosing. But I was thinking of doing interviews too, and writing the gist of their story as a kind of intro to each letter. And it doesn’t even have to be a traditional letter either,” he explains, getting more excited as he goes on. He’s been in higher spirits after reading Jihoon’s letter, soaring on the updrafts of energy, and it’s enough drive to start thinking of completing his requirements. He details the outline of what he’d come up with, while Jihoon roams around the room pointing officiously at things Woojin needs to clean up.

“Posting on a forum sounds good,” Jihoon comments thoughtfully. “We can’t be sure it’ll reach lots of people though, so you might want to ask our friends for help too?”

“Your friends?” Woojin asks, surprised. He hadn’t even considered approaching Jihoon’s friends from the acting department. In fact, he hadn’t spared them a thought in months.

Jihoon crosses his arms with a frown. “Of course my friends too! You don’t think I’d ask them to help you if I could?”

Woojin matches the frown with his own. “But would they remember me? We only met once.”

“A-and why wouldn’t they?” Jihoon stutters out, sounding offended, but the flush on his face speaks of embarrassment. “Not that I talked about you a lot, but they… they’ve heard—they just know you, okay? You can ask them to help spread your post. My friends are nice!”

“Huh…”

This is different. It used to be Woojin that nagged and Jihoon that talked brightly about his projects, but the past three months really has changed a lot more than he’d been thinking.

His heart flutters just watching Jihoon from this close.

He hasn’t felt this light, this free, in ages. Breathing becomes easier when he leaves the house to socialize with his friends, and concentrating in his classes takes less effort. For the next week, he sets to work on the forum and forwarding links to his and Jihoon’s friends, the latter initially reacting with wariness upon meeting him, but agreeing to his request nevertheless.

Woojin supposes that they _would_ remember him, considering they were the ones who had delivered the finished video of Jihoon’s last shoot.

Answers to his forum post, especially ones that are actually helpful for his project, trickle in slowly during the following week, but somehow Woojin manages to correspond with enough people who are willing to share their stories for his collection; not so many that it’d be infeasible to visit all of them in the small amount of time he has left.

 

_… meeting up sounds like a great idea. I’m looking forward to talking about our story with you. Send me a message on when you’ll be able to come here and we will definitely free up our schedule!_

“This,” Woojin says through the pen cap between his teeth as he jots down the name and forum id of the respondent, “should be the last one I meet on the way back. Visiting all of them should take me, what, maybe three to four days depending on how quickly each meeting goes?” He scoots over to give space for Jihoon to sit beside him and pore over his notes. “And if this couple and the other two in that city agree to meet at the same time, then I can relax my itinerary a bit.”

Jihoon nods absently, his attention focused on the list, before his face clears and he points out one of the respondents. “Hey, this place has a really popular cafe nearby that I saw on the internet. We could go!” he exclaims, filled with excitement. The grin on his lips stretches from one ear to the other, cheekbones jutting out prominently, and his eyes shine so happily at Woojin that he only manages to squeeze out, “Are you coming with me?”

“You’re driving, aren’t you?” Jihoon pouts. “I’ve been asking you to take me driving since a week after we met. And besides... I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked from you.”

“I can think of a few more things,” Woojin jokes, but it falls flat. There’s a complicated look on Jihoon’s face that weighs on him. “Is that it then? Do I just drive you places?”

Jihoon’s smile is a soft setting of the sun. There’s sadness in it mixed with regret, but it’s still one of the most beautiful sights Woojin has ever seen, one of the few things he needs to keep, that he can’t simply give up. It’s a smile that he knows will haunt him, so he stares his fill until Jihoon says, eyes curving up with the edges of his lips, “You promised, Woojin-ah.”

So he did. Woojin waits for the choked up feeling in his throat to clear before he answers, “Okay.”

 

-

 

Woojin hefts the strap of his gym bag over one shoulder and carries the paper bag filled with snacks in his other arm. He locks his apartment door behind him and skips down the stairs, jogging out of the apartment building with a thrum in his veins. When he opens the car on the driver’s side, Jihoon is already in the passenger seat, portraying a peaceful image of rest under the early morning light.

Jihoon cracks one eye open and grins when he sees Woojin. “Good morning!”

“Excited?” A smile slips onto Woojin’s face when Jihoon points a finger at him in confirmation. He’s inside, fastening his own seatbelt, and starting the car before the panic of actually driving catches up to him. Spying Jihoon’s reflection in the rearview mirror, oblivious and cheerful as he peers out the window, only heightens his anxiety, and he clutches at the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping his sanity tethered.

Jihoon glances his way through the mirror and directs a concerned frown his way. “Woojin…” he murmurs, hands coming up to touch his arm, but as always stopping right before contact. This time, Woojin can clearly see the distress and frustration taking over and it might’ve been this, that Jihoon can’t hide his feelings when Woojin is on the forefront of his mind, that grinds his fears steadily to a halt.

He slumps against the wheel, the hard material digging so painfully into his forehead he’s sure it’ll leave a red mark, and fights to slow his breathing. “I’m okay,” he gasps. “I’m okay. I can do this.”

“You can,” Jihoon says quietly right next to his ear. “You can do anything, Woojin-ah.”

He chuckles, rendered helpless once again. How does Jihoon do this to him even now? “I have to,” he says, head still buried. “Gotta look cool in front of you, don’t I?”

“ _Woojin_!” Jihoon sounds scandalized but he’s laughing too, and it restores the good mood for the start of the trip.

 

-

 

“Woojin-ah, I’ll open the window okay?”

“Ye—at least wait for me to answer,” Woojin complains half-heartedly. It’s almost a struggle to keep his eyes on the road when Jihoon is sitting there like he’s in a road trip aesthetic photoshoot, arm resting along the sill cradling his head, the gleam of sunlight barely reflected in his lidded eyes. “How… how are you doing?” He swallows, checking the mirror on his right busily.

Jihoon chuckles, lazy and content. “I should be asking you that. Do you feel like your driving has gotten rusty? I can’t tell.”

“What makes you think I’ve gotten rusty?” scoffs Woojin. “I’ll have you know that three months won’t dull my muscle memory.” It’s sort of a bluff. As the hours pass and the distance they cover lengthens, the coiled up springs in Woojin’s shoulders unwind until he’s humming along with Jihoon to B1A4’s A Lie, determinedly ignoring the brief irritated look directed his way when they both try to do the rap.

Every so often, even with the wide stretches of asphalt on either side of his car, he starts to feel closed in. But the wind from Jihoon’s open window chases away the invisible walls and he unwinds just a little bit more. All of a sudden, he’s grateful to not be making this trip alone, that Jihoon is by his side to constantly ground him, even if…

He steals a glance again at Jihoon, at the boyish quirk of his lips that hasn’t changed since they first met years ago. It’ll hurt to lose this, he thinks to himself. Now more than ever, it’ll hurt to lose this closeness, to lose Jihoon.

“Stop thinking about it.”

Woojin blinks away the haze in his vision. This is getting dangerous. “I’m not thinking about anything,” he says.

“While that’s normally true,” Jihoon says as he moves away from the window and leans back against his seat. “I’ve known you for years and I know when you’re thinking or doing anything stupid.”

“You keep calling these things stupid but they’re all important to me.” _You’re important._

Jihoon looks at him like he knows that too, the words Woojin didn’t say. Perhaps he does. “Let’s stop at the first cafe we find and get you some food. You look like you could use a break from driving.”

A few minutes pass with only the faint music from the radio and the wind drowning out their silence.

“I was looking forward to the fruity summer drinks.” It’s barely audible. “Next month, nothing to film, a roadtrip to the mountains, going camping—”

“You mean making me do all of the work?” Woojin cuts in.

There’s a pause where he doesn’t know what Jihoon is doing, whether he’s back to staring at the rapidly disappearing scenery or glowering at Woojin, or if he’s paying attention to Woojin at all. But Jihoon laughs in soft exhales of breath. “Yeah, that too.”

When they arrive at their first destination, Woojin pulls over at the first cafe parking lot he comes across and orders a honeydew melon cooler for himself. As soon as the drink arrives, Woojin raises it to Jihoon, who’s waiting outside by the car, crouching next to a stray dog sniffing at his feet curiously. Jihoon sticks out his tongue and turns his head away.

“Did you get food too?” Jihoon asks as Woojin pushes out of the store, surprising the dog into scampering away. “Ah! Look what you did!”

“You’re on a trip with _me_ ,” Woojin reminds him.

“How could I forget?”

He rolls his eyes at Jihoon’s lack of enthusiasm and shakes the small white paper bag in his hand with the cafe’s logo. “Got me a sandwich and there’s snacks in the car. Let’s go.”

 

-

 

They don’t go.

Jihoon refuses to get into the car until Woojin finishes his food, even with the threats to leave him behind lest they be late for the first appointment. “It’s one sandwich! Eat fast! You can’t eat while driving and you’ll be too busy to eat later, so this is your only chance,” he chides, and a chastened Woojin complies.

Back on the road, he tasks Jihoon to look out on the right side for the restaurant where he’ll be meeting the respondent. The Corner is apparently a small place nestled between an office and an indie cafe, somehow surviving by being a happy middle in terms of prices and menu offerings. The person Woojin will talk to is a co-owner of the restaurant and the recipient of the love letter.

“I hope it goes well,” Woojin mumbles, eyes darting everywhere as he drives slow.

“It will,” says Jihoon reassuringly. “Oh, I think that’s it?” He points at a small brick building, its burnt orange roof bearing a large unlit sign proclaiming The Corner. The front of the restaurant is lined by plant boxes under the large glass windows, and two parking spaces frame each side of the narrow walkway leading up to the door.

Woojin reverses into a slot, one arm around the back of Jihoon’s seat, inciting a loud snort.

“So manly!”

“Shut up, _please_.”

Once again, Jihoon stays outside while Woojin goes in, but this time instead of standing idly by the car, he nimbly balances on a plant box and peers inside, pouting enviously at the selection of food. No one inside pays any mind to the antics so Woojin does the same, heading towards the counter to ask if the owner of the restaurant is present.

A moment later, he’s directed to an empty table in the back and asked to wait. He isn’t left alone for too long, though, as a waiter drops by to leave a menu in front of him, and soon enough the owner herself appears. She’s a lot shorter than Woojin, he sees when he stands to greet her, and has a plump face and build, but her warmth stretches out to encompass the entire restaurant as she pauses to smile fondly at the customers.

(Jihoon’s face is still pressed against the window, and he seems to be drooling over a strawberry cream cake. Woojin barely manages to stop himself from shaking his head.)

The owner turns towards him with a welcoming smile.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says, untying her apron and slinging it over one shoulder. “How did you find the place?”

“We made it here fine, ma’am,” he replies. “My friend was able to point out your restaurant before we drove past it.”

She nods in understanding, but pauses at the mention of the friend. “You brought someone with you? Where is he now? We can set up another place for him,” she offers waving towards the seat beside Woojin.

Woojin quickly puts out both hands to stop her from calling a waiter over. “Ma’am, it’s alright! He's a little…” A stolen glance at the window shows that Jihoon is no longer on top of the plant box nor standing by the car. He frowns, concerned. “... a little preoccupied at the moment. I think he wanted to tour the city a bit.”

“If you’re sure…?” She waits for Woojin to nod before pushing a document envelope towards him gingerly. “My husband can’t make it today, but we’ve discussed what we want to share with you. Do you want to read the letters first before I start?”

 

_Jiyeon,_

_I want to begin this letter by saying I’ve read the one that you left behind on my desk. It was from you, right? There was no name or initials, but the envelope still smells like your perfume, and I know your handwriting after all these years. I know I’m not wrong about this. You can hit my head and call me an idiot about anything, but I hope I know you well enough to recognize a letter you wrote._

_You said that you admire my passion in football and that you watch all our games. I’m surprised. You’ve always said that you’d never be caught dead attending our games, not even the ones held at our school, but if you really have been watching, I’ll admit I’m a little disappointed. It would have been nice to know that you were there in our games. It would have strengthened my resolve to win, if I’d known you were there watching and cheering us on._

_Are you wondering why I wish this?_

_I like you too, Han Jiyeon._

_It’s not feelings only on your side. It made me sad to read that you thought in such a way, when I have no one else that I’d rather be with. It’s always been you, no matter how many years pass._

_Meet me at the roof tomorrow._

_There’s something important that I want to say to you._

_Kibum_

 

The restaurant owner, Han Jiyeon, chuckles once she’s ascertained that Woojin is done reading. “He lost the letter I wrote him, you know? Right after giving that one to me.”

“That’s…” he trails off, unsure what to say.

“Unfortunate?”

“Yes…”

She smiles fondly at the paper in Woojin’s hands. “It’s alright. When we met on the roof, he asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him and his parents. We’ve been friends since, oh, grade school?”

“That’s a long time,” Woojin comments, feeling a little stupid after doing so. He’d appreciate having Jihoon somewhere nearby right around now, even if it’s only to make fun of him. “You’ve been together since then?”

“Oh no.” This time her laughter is louder and her knuckles are white where her fists have been clenched atop the table. Woojin suspects it’s not a good story. “He got into an accident in college. You know that he was a football player from the letter, but he was really the best on their team and secured an athletic scholarship after high school. It meant we had to go to different universities but…” With a rueful grin, she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “We thought we’d be able to make it work. But in his… second year, I think, Kibum broke his leg. He managed an almost full recovery, only it wasn’t quite enough. He wasn’t as fast as before or as agile, he couldn’t get back to the same level and it… it _broke_ him.”

Silence dominates the table as Jiyeon taps her fingers on the surface of the table thoughtfully, and Woojin focuses on the movement, rather than on how her shoulders shake as she gathers herself.

“We lost contact. The next news I had of him was that he was back in the hospital after being found all beaten up in an alley. He was drunk and—he said later on that he’d wanted to get beaten up. So that he’d have an excuse for how he wasn’t improving the way he wanted. Now I’ve mostly accepted everything that happened, but back then all I could think of was that I should have tried harder to reach him, to stay with him. Kibum, for a while, was a little unstable and his parents brought him abroad to get treated.”

She pulls out the remaining sheaf of papers from the document envelope. “We wrote to each other during that time. I’m sorry to say I can’t let you have a copy of these, but you can read them,” she says, apologetic.

“No!” Woojin quickly disclaims. “If the content is too personal, of course I wouldn’t insist. I’m grateful that you’re allowing me to hear about this at all.”

 

-

 

Woojin exits the restaurant to a quiet street with only the occasional car passing through. Jihoon is standing under the stark noon sun looking for all the world like the heat and blinding brightness don’t bother him. His head is tipped back, eyes open and staring at the sky, but his stance and the hard set of his mouth make it seem like he’s issuing a challenge.

Woojin lets the door fall close, and the jangling bells draw Jihoon’s attention.

“Are you done?” he asks.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Jihoon turns towards the car, the entire line of his body suddenly unreadable. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Let’s go to the next one?” Woojin starts towards the other side of the car, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever expression Jihoon is wearing, but Jihoon gets in quickly and is facing away by the time Woojin reaches the driver’s door. Once the car is started, right before they leave the restaurant, he finally utters, “Jihoon?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t want you to hide yourself from me,” he confesses to the air between them. “We can be honest on this trip, can’t we?”

Jihoon stays obstinately still for the longest time, and then he gradually melts into his seat until the slope of his nose is finally visible. “We can,” he mumbles. “Sorry, Woojin-ah. This trip is for you.”

“It’s for you, too.”

Jihoon’s hands trace his own knees as his upper body bows, but he keeps his face open to Woojin’s perusal, leaning his right temple against the glove box and blinking owlishly at him. “Only a little bit,” he says.

 _No,_ Woojin wants to tell him, wants to shake him by the shoulders until he understands. _This entire trip is for you. This literature project, these love letters, meeting all these people, I’m doing all of this for you._ But Woojin is the biggest hypocrite in the world because this is another one of the things that he hides.

 

They fall into a system of Woojin going into cafes or restaurants and taking down notes, while Jihoon loiters outside either staring at the food or finding dogs to play with.

 

(“This one has a collar.”

Jihoon ignores him and continues letting the dog chase after him.

“Jihoon, I’m gonna get fined for dognapping.”)

 

Sometimes they take breaks between stints of driving. If they’re lucky, there’d be a conveniently located gas station. If they’re _really_ lucky, they can find somewhere to leave the car in the city while they find an empty space to sit in a neighborhood playground.

 

(“Look at those kids staring at us,” Woojin says, trying to avoid those gazes. “Do they seem evil to you?”

Jihoon swivels around so he has a safer view of the street instead. “They probably think you’re a creeper.”)

 

It’s been awhile since they last spent time together like this. Just the two of them outside, relaxed and happy, with no demands from classes and extracurriculars hovering like a knife between them. He’s reminded of how they used to be a year ago, sneaking out after curfew to make time for each other amidst Woojin’s dance practices and Jihoon’s endless projects. It seems so far in the past now.

The three months that passed with Jihoon beside him, alternately patient and long-suffering in Woojin’s heavily curtained room, fades in comparison to this.

 

-

 

Woojin didn’t expect to learn so much from the people and their love letters, but each meeting gives him something to chew on, something to ponder about during the in-betweens.

 

_To my daughter, my only light..._

 

_You always know when to pull me out of whatever trouble I get myself into. I’m happy I met you. I’m grateful I make you happy too…_

 

_in this hidden patch_

_of earth i fight_

_up the splits_

_of cement_

_i blossom_

_under your eyes…_

 

_Why am I always too late? If I had never met you, my life would be less painful, but I would never give up the moments we struggled together. I wish we could’ve struggled longer. I wish..._

 

-

 

It’s not enough.

Woojin finds Jihoon outside the gositel at dawn, sitting on the sidewalk and humming a song to the salmon pink skies, and the image burns itself into his mind in painful clarity. This is the last day, and there’s only three people left to meet. After this…

Jihoon finally notices his presence, and the grin that blossoms on his face is more dazzling, more precious than anything. “Woojin-ah!” he greets. “Did you have a good dream?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, throat dry.

It’s been the best dream. And it’s close to the end.

“Let’s go.”

Jihoon pushes himself up off the pavement and walks ahead of him.

Woojin wants to call his name.

_Jihoon._

_Jihoon, I see you everyday, so why do I still miss you?_

 

-

 

There’s something to be said about the state between dreaming and waking. Screams and colors jumble with whispers and grays into a muffled mess in Woojin’s mind, a constant unrecognizable tune that is always in the background. It brushes shyly against his consciousness, but that’s all it is, a vague awareness that around him the world continues to move regardless of what he does and doesn’t do.

The last person he scheduled to meet on this trip is a girl his age. She introduces herself as Lee Hayoon.

There should be nothing atypical about this encounter, and Woojin had gone into this cafe thinking it would be something cliche; but the moment Jihoon sees her he turns contemplative and, after a moment to waffle about it, follows her inside.

He sits at a vacant chair beside Woojin and remains silent.

“This is, um,” Hayoon says, laying down a flash drive and a folded sheet of paper before Woojin. “It’s not a written letter. I’ve been running an audio blog for a while now and got to reminiscing about my childhood. A few months ago, I got word about someone I admired when I was younger and thought I’d speak about him. That one’s a transcript for the post.”

Woojin unfolds the paper and feels his heart freeze over.

Of course.

She continues, “I did write a letter once, but I never got to give it to him. It always seemed like he was looking far into the future where I could never catch up, but it made him shine brighter than anyone. I’d hoped,” Hayoon pauses to blink back tears, “I’d hoped that I could meet him again one day and let him know how much he inspired me, how much he helped me turn my life around even if he didn’t know about it.”

Jihoon is still as stone, anticipating.

“But it looks like that’s not possible anymore. The news that I’d gotten was that he died in a car accident three months ago. I think he was a student in your university, so maybe you know him?”

It feels like the air around Woojin vanishes in one instant. His lungs constrict, and the sounds of people chattering, of plates and glasses clinking, dull into a very low buzz until he hears only the name from her lips.

“Park Jihoon.”

When Woojin glances beside him, there’s no trace of Jihoon on the seat.

 

-

 

“You left.”

They’re in the car, heading back to Woojin’s apartment. If they keep to this pace, they might arrive by early evening, but Woojin is tempted to slow down, to make this trip last as long as he can. Jihoon hasn’t said a word since Woojin had found him in the car, curled up in the seat and staring at the glove box.

He hugs his knees tighter when Woojin speaks, and sighs, “Practice.”

“Practice,” he echoes, and it seems like Jihoon is shrinking in the passenger seat, compressing himself into the space. Woojin aches to reach for him and hide him under his arm, to pull him to his side, to feel Jihoon shuffle closer and press the two of them together of his own volition just like before. Only those days are gone. He’s had the most fleeting of tastes in the past three months, but there’s no going back to a time when Jihoon was alive. “I… can handle it, Jihoon-ah,” he says like a promise. “If I’m the only one holding you back, if you’re in pain from seeing me… like this, I’m done—I’m done marinating, okay?”

“No, you’re not,” Jihoon murmurs into his knees.

“Okay, I’m not,” he admits easily. “But I can keep going. I _can_.”

Jihoon says, even more softly, “I know you can. I know my Woojin can do anything.”

 

It’s almost a quiet ride home except for Woojin’s desperate attempts to keep a conversation going. Jihoon responds on occasion, but for most of the trip he stares at Woojin through the rearview mirror wistfully, as if drinking in the sight of him was the only thing keeping him here, as if imprinting every light and shadow on Woojin’s face into his mind.

Right as they arrive at the city limits, Jihoon tells Woojin, “Can you take me back to my apartment?”

Woojin clutches the wheel tightly. “Why?”

“It’s the last part of my request,” Jihoon answers and clears his throat. His next words sound more cheerful, if a little forced, but the yearning behind them is genuine. “It’s a bit unconventional, but will you think of this as our first vacation together? I, hah,” There’s a hitch in Jihoon’s breath that betrays the tears he’s trying to hold back. “I-I had a lot of fun, Woojin-ah…”

“Jihoon...” Woojin wants to hold him. He wants to hold him _so badly._ But he keeps driving, and takes the right turns to get to Jihoon’s old apartment. His forehead scrunches up in an effort to stop himself from crying too.

This is it, then.

 

-

 

They stop outside the building just as the sun is setting, and it reminds Woojin of Jihoon’s smile back when they were still planning this trip. The soft glow of embers. An ending.

It’s Jihoon’s smile now as he says, “Woojin-ah. Thank you for keeping your promise.”

The words crawl into Woojin’s chest and burrow further, nestling into a tiny nook in his heart. These are the last words he’ll hear from Jihoon. This is the last time he’ll see this smile. _You said you can do this, Park Woojin, so just. Fucking do it._

Let Jihoon go.

Emotions build up inside Woojin as the seconds pass where he can’t speak, can’t look away from Jihoon’s translucent form. _Jihoon_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. Prays, but doesn’t expect.

_Don’t go. Jihoon, Jihoon, don’t go, please don’t go._

“ _Jihoon_ ,” he chokes out at last, twisting to face him, and Jihoon does the same. The expectant smile before him makes him falter and the pleas in his throat are swallowed down like bile. “Tell me one thing,” he says instead.

“What is it?”

“Did…” Woojin steels himself and forges on, “did I make you happy?”

“Woojin-ah…”

The sun disappears completely in the time he waits for an answer, until there’s only the faint glow of streetlamps outside. Even so, Woojin can see Jihoon clearly as if the sun had hidden itself away inside him, casting its rays outwards. It’s in the reddish glow of his cheeks, the way it sparkles in the tears welling up in Jihoon’s eyes, and _god_ , Woojin loves him so much.

Jihoon raises both hands, poised, quivering, over Woojin’s jaw. He bites his lip and exhales, “Always. Always, Woojin-ah. No matter how long we went without seeing each other, no matter how much we fought, you’re always my happiness.”

Woojin holds his breath as Jihoon’s fingers drift closer until they’re barely a centimeter away.

“And me?” he hears, through the sound of static in his ears. “Did I make you happy?”

He watches as tears roll down Jihoon’s cheeks and, more than anything, feels a sense of devastation. “Yes,” he says, because this is the only thing he can do to comfort him. “Yes,” he says, because it’s the only truth he knows. “You made me happy, you _make_ me happy. Everyday that I can remember you, Jihoon-ah. You’re my happiness too.”

For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, Woojin feels a brush of something warm against the skin of his jaw, and he closes his eyes. Something faint, like a breath of air, tickles his lips.

_I love you, Woojin._

When he blinks his eyes open, he is alone. He waits for the heat blurring his vision to subside before making the drive back to his own apartment.

 

-

 

_Jihoon,_

_I’m cutting this project a little close, if I’m going to be honest. You might be disappointed, but then again, I think you’d mostly be laughing at how much I panicked on the phone yesterday. I got more letters, you know? Some of your friends contacted me after I got back and, actually considering they’re your friends, it’s not that surprising that they’re hiding love letters in their past._

_With the annotations, I got enough pages to make it a bound book, and yesterday the binders called to tell me that there was a problem with their machine. It was a fucking heart attack, but they’ve apparently fixed it and I can pick up my project now._

_This is all thanks to you._

_Not just the project. Everything._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t write to you this whole week, but I’ll try to everyday from now on._

_I love you, Jihoon._

 

Woojin puts down his pen and stretches his back. He takes the paper and folds it carefully before slipping it into a box on his desk, where it joins another letter addressed to _Woojin._

 

-

 

_All the Beauty that Remains:_

50 love letters, 50 love stories

 

Collected and Annotated by

Park Woojin

 

-

 

Dedication

 

For Anon ;P

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hate me.
> 
> thank you so much to november team (jess, em, and hannah!), caro, and reena for supporting me from outline to summary. i love you guys a lot!!
> 
> so ends day 3 of WAT's november fic week! our theme for the month is actors, featuring actor line ong seongwoo and park jihoon (not necessarily both)! as you can see, i very loosely followed. look forward to days 4 and 5!
> 
> -
> 
> Let me know what you think in a comment!


End file.
